content warning: death / dying
Author's Note: For context - this poem is told from the imagined POV of my great-granduncle who in the early 1900s had to live in quarantine in a tuberculosis sanitarium where he died. There was not really a cure for TB during this time, so many people spent their time in isolation working on crafts and artistic pursuits. My family still keeps a small basket that my great-granduncle wove - a century later; memory is persistent.
Please Note: Capitalization and punctuation choices are intentional.